


Double-Edged Sword

by Hungry_AloeLeaf



Series: My Warriors Boys Being Boys [12]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Crow might be being a meanie, I couldn't, I'm Sorry, Irony, M/M, Might change title, Not mad, Stormfur is technically there, anyways thanks for reading about my nonsense if you even read these long tags, but I did say I was going to stop doing baby Crow so often, but let's remember, comfort-ish story, hMMMMMMmmmmMMMMMMMMMM, hmmmm, i know this thing not too good, i'm acting like i used to be able to do angst, idk if it is... good, in regards to Bramble, is it mild? idk, is this also just me being a little mad at Lost Stars, is this venty? maybe, just confused, laughs, maybe every sword has two edges tho, mild gore?, still can't, this is a weird au, villian!Rock, we learn from mistakes, you'll see why - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hungry_AloeLeaf/pseuds/Hungry_AloeLeaf
Summary: The fibricator claims a new victim every hour. Families are mourning, society teeters on the edge of oblivion. Needless to say... things are not too great.Two close friends venture to stop the bloodshed, but at what price?*pumps fist* yeah that was a better summary!! I think...
Relationships: Brambleclaw/Crowfeather (Warriors)
Series: My Warriors Boys Being Boys [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771114
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Double-Edged Sword

“Storm-!”

“Don’t,” Brambleclaw kept his grip on Crowfeather tight. “You’ll just get fibricated too.”

Both blinked past the bushes, the shiny green leaves, the broken shards of armor at Stormfur’s ash gray body, drenched in blood and water.

“We’ll fix this.” The taller man murmured in his friend’s soft hair, closing his eyes to avoiding looking at the corpse. “As soon as we get to Rock.”

When he lifted his chin up, he could feel moisture clinging to his face. He brushed at it absentmindedly with a hand, and drew it away… more blood.

Crowfeather groaned, a fumbling hand pawing for Brambleclaw’s.

“We’d better go.”

“Yeah.” Brambleclaw mumbled, despondent, rising to his feet. “Just mind your leg.”

\---

Moonlight showered the campsite in silver, lighting up what was all dark and gloomy to them since earlier.

Stormfur would’ve said something about the full moon. He liked astronomy, and other science things like that.

The jungle was still vibrant with life, despite the cloak of nighttime. Nocturnal creatures skittered about the undergrowth, nighttime birds in the air lifting off and taking a midnight flight. Their wings shadowed the tree tops above them, but that didn’t stop the bird beside the fire from scribbling away in his notebook.

His leg was propped up on a rock, bleeding even through the torn jeans Brambleclaw had managed to wrap around the wound. It was clear he was still in pain, but he kept on dragging the pencil to make the loops and lines of letters then pausing to think. Look into the fire, and continue scrawling.

Sometimes Brambleclaw wondered things.

“Are you going to make a book out of all of that?”

Crowfeather shrugged silently. He paused, blue mirrors reflecting the fire. Then his pencil scratched the paper again, filling the silence surrounding them.

Brambleclaw shifted closer to the flames.

“You’re being quiet, Birdie…” He sang softly. “And you probably have a lot to say.”

The blue eyes connected with his, silently questioning how he knew.

“I don’t have anything to say.” Crowfeather grunted at last, gaze guarded.

“Then whatcha doing there?”

“That’s none of your business!” The smaller man snapped, slamming the notebook shut with an agitated flick. “Why are you so worried about what I’m doing anyways?!”

“Because,” The tall man raised his wide shoulders in a shrug. “I’m bored.”

Crowfeather huffed at him, crawling to his feet.

“I’m going to sleep. Hopefully we’re going start our way to the laboratory by morning.”

When the flaps in the tent swung closed, the brunet turned his attention to the sky.

Where Squirrelflight and Stormfur watching? Or had their spirits gone ashen too? Were they being held in some sort of waiting place before they could get a chance to defeat Rock?

Brambleclaw partially hoped so.

\---

They set out for the lab when the sun was high.

Both ended up lingering in the camp too late – at least later than they had intended. Neither had slept well that night, and their sleeping carried on into the morning.

Sleeping on the leaves hadn’t been the comfiest thing, but after the horrors of yesterday, Brambleclaw was so eager to escape from reality.

They were all together again.

Tawnypelt at his side, no gray streaks in her curls. Squirrelflight playing with her old wooden dolls at his right. Stormfur and Feathertail demonstrating a game of pattycake to Crowfeather, who watched with owl eyes.

He glanced up into the moon, unaware of when the scene around him changed.

When he looked down, it was just Stormfur and Squirrelflight, surrounded by still puddles of blood. Bodies crumbling when the slightest breeze flowed over them.

He stood and watched as their faces disintegrated right then, the dust of them lit up by the moon as the gale carried them away, speck by speck.

Dusty forms filled the clearing.

They blocked his nostrils, mercilessly scorching his throat and burning his eyes.

That’s when he woke up.

His chest felt too tight for his lungs when he drew himself up with a cry, tears streaming down his chin.

“ _Ay_ ,” He flopped back, body quaking, terror still furled tight in his stomach. “I don’t need this.”

He blindly threw his hand over to his left, expecting to feel Crowfeather. There was nothing but a blanket beneath his fingers.

“ _Ay!_ ” He said with more grievance, bringing himself up with a groan. “I _truly_ don’t need this.”

He crawled out of the flaps, spotting his escaped bird nestled beside the fireplace, curls ruffled, motions jerky as he scribbled away.

The relentless authoring reminded Brambleclaw of home, when his friend would stay up all night typing away.

The brunet prowled closer, allowing himself to step on a twig to announce his presence.

Crowfeather hesitated. Drew his head up.

“You been screaming.” The blue eyes glared out from under the black curls. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You could’ve woken me up,” Brambleclaw exhaled, settling beside his bird. “I wouldn’t have particularly minded.”

“Sounded like you were having one of those fun roller coaster dreams.” Grumbled Crowfeather, with a hint of sarcasm Brambleclaw hadn’t heard since they were younger. “Ain’t ‘bout to stop you.”

“Birdie,” Brambleclaw wound his arms around Crowfeather, pulling him onto his leg. “You have something to say now?”

He could sort of glimpse the book. It didn’t look like anything he’d see his fidgety friend write before – no long paragraphs completed in mere minutes, no elaborate words, no half-cursive flair.

It was plain manuscript. Short phrases.

Short phrases that pierced him with concern and if it was possible, even more cold fear tangled inside of his abdomen. A double-edged sword.

“You need to talk to me, Crow.” He pleaded now, tugging imploringly at the puffy curls. “We’ve both lost a lot recently. But we can get it back.”

Crowfeather’s laugh was a dry caw without humor.

“You don’t know that, boy.”

“No, I don’t. But whatever mess Rock did, I know we can reverse whatever it is. Storm… said we could.” Brambleclaw lowered his head. “He knew more than us about it.”

“Well, look where the hell he’s at.” Crowfeather tore himself away. For a millisecond, Brambleclaw feared the fire would catch him, but he swooped away with his notebook just in time. “ _Dead._ ”

“He’s _not_ dead!”

“Yes, he is!” The small man towered over Brambleclaw, wind swirling his nappy hair. “It better that you accept that instead of getting your hopes up on nothing.”

“NOTHING?!”

His distressed yell rang through the trees and vines. Crowfeather only rolled his eyes.

“Come on. You can’t rewind death. He was _dead_ , Bramble.”

“B-but if we destroy the machine-”

“Are you listening to me?” Crowfeather snatched Brambleclaw’s chin upwards. “There is no resurrection. You and Stormfur don’t seem to know how death works.”

“I know how death works!” The brunet’s protest only receives a snort.

“Apparently not.”

“So if you thought that I was dead,” The tall man whispered near silently, amber eyes burning orbs even in the dying firelight. “Would you just sit there and not save me? If you thought there was a chance?”

Crowfeather stared back, expression going blank. He released Brambleclaw gently.

“If I knew that you were dead,” The bird said softly. “Then you would stay that way.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I was sitting on my hypothetical carpet, ignoring the more important things of life, pondering about how my writing has changed.
> 
> Before it was all cake and ice cream, (well it was always cakes and ice cream) I could write angst! I could write.... other things that I don't do now because BOY that was a phase
> 
> Anyways, it wasn't always fluffy *grins evilly* let me try some angsty thingies. let me challenge myself to write them complicated emotions I get too chicken nugget to write then I do something about the characters eating cookie although cookies are yummy and maybe I would prefer them eating cookies but that's not the point  
> also i just want to do something edgier (i think that's what it is?) so let me see where this goes


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